Scars and Stories
by whiskets
Summary: Emma comes home from the station after dealing with a massive storm and accidentally reveals a dark secret about her past to Mary Margaret. Canon. One-shot. Post "Hat Trick" MM/Emma bonding/friendship. Not angsty. Please read trigger warning within, to be safe.


**Scars and stories**

Summary: Emma comes home from the station after dealing with a storm and accidentally reveals a dark secret about her past to Mary Margaret. Canon. One-shot. Post "Hat Trick" MM/Emma bonding

Timeline/Spoilers: Post "Hat Trick" and Mary Margaret's release from jail. Actual timeline is non-specific.

Trigger warning: past mentions of abuse

Disclaimer: Not mine, please don't sue as I'm poor.

Rating: T/PG-13 because I'm cautious.

Oh, and this hasn't been proofread, so if you see something, let me know.

* * *

The storm had hit unexpectedly, drenching the entire town of Storybrooke in a torrential downpour. This was, supposedly, what happened here: the weather blew in, created a mess, and blew out.

* * *

Emma sighed as she dragged herself up the few stairs to Mary Margaret's apartment. All she wanted was to get out of her sopping wet clothes, take a hot shower and relax for the night before she had to get back out there. Luckily, as acting Sheriff, she had the option of calling in mutual aid from the surrounding area. She hadn't exercised this option as of yet and smiled to herself as she thought of Henry's reaction to strangers in Storybrooke. The smile faltered as she paused in the doorway, listening for her roommate. Satisfied that the brunette wasn't home, Emma turned and took off her gloves, hat and jacket, shutting the door behind her.

Knowing she wasn't always the most considerate person, Emma nonetheless was trying to keep the puddle of water she was creating to a minimum, both to save herself the hassle of cleaning up and to show her roommate's living space respect. The power had been knocked out earlier and the blonde saw that Mary Margaret had considerately left a few candles safely burning throughout the apartment.

The blonde pulled her shirt over her head, dropping it onto the pile of wet clothing. She shivered in her bra and remaining wet clothes. She moved next to her boots, setting them beside the doorway, trying to quietly hurry so that she could get into the hot shower she knew was waiting for her. She pulled off her socks and was working on her soaked jeans, her back to the apartment, when she heard Mary Margaret squeak from behind her.

* * *

Mary Margaret knew that Emma had to be out in the storm, she _was _the Sheriff, after all, but still, she worried for her friend. She didn't like the idea of the blonde being out in the cold wind and rain, especially by herself when something, _anything _could happen. She decided to try to stay up until Emma got home. She had heard the front door shut. Putting her book down, she wavered on checking on the younger woman, not wanting to appear as if she was keeping tabs on Emma. Finally, some sense prompted her to exit her warm bed and make her way to the front door where she could hear someone. She picked up the lantern on her bedside table that she had previously been using to read and took it with her.

Mary Margaret padded quietly to the front door, a smile on her face. She stopped suddenly, shocked at what she saw. Emma had her back to her and Mary could see a small pile of wet clothing piled to one side. Emma was bent low, wrestling with the cuff of her pants leg, giving Mary Margaret a clear view of the plain of her back with its myriad of criss-crossing scars. The sound that issued from Mary's mouth was involuntary as she got a glimpse of the physical pain Emma had endured in her young life.

Emma heard the sound and stiffened, armed with the knowledge that only one sight could cause that reaction: Mary Margaret had seen her scar covered back. The tension rolled through her and she stopped fighting with her pants. Without turning to look at her roommate, the Sheriff scooped up her wet clothing, composing herself. After a second, she straightened, holding the wet clothing to her chest with her arms crossed and turned.

"Hey," Emma said flatly, her expression carefully blank.

Mary Margaret still looked shocked. She took in Emma's expression and body language and did her best to school her features.

"Hi…I didn't hear you come in," Mary said, eyes shining.

"I was, um, trying to be quiet. I didn't want to make a mess," Emma offered the explanation quietly, still waiting to see what Mary Margaret was going to do.

The women stood facing each other for a few minutes. Emma's skin was humming with the tension she felt. Her scars were not something she wanted to discuss with anyone. Finally, Emma shrugged and stepped around Mary Margaret, turning so that her back was away from the other woman.

"Okay, well, I'm going to go shower," Emma said, still clutching her wet things. She back stepped to the bathroom door, shutting it loudly.

* * *

Mary Margaret jumped from the sound, as if a spell had been broken. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. She didn't know why seeing Emma's past pain hurt her so much, only that it did. It was an uncontrolled response. Could it be since she had allowed the blonde into her life, she felt responsible for her? She shook her head slightly, knowing she was close to the answer but not there yet. Did it really matter _why _she felt responsible? No, only that she did. Her mind turned to the image of Emma's back. What had happened to the younger woman to create that many injuries? Her initial thought was that someone had beaten Emma with a belt. The physical injuries were old and scarred, indicating they had occurred when Emma was much younger. Mary Margaret's heart cringed at the mental images conjured at the thought. Something terrible had happened to Emma, several times, by the look of it.

* * *

Emma put both palms on the tiled wall of the shower and let the hot water course over her. She wanted to think about anything else right now: Henry, the worsening weather, even Graham's death, _anything _besides her past and what Mary Margaret was going to think of her. What kind of person was she, if she had deserved to get hit that many times? Unconsciously, Emma turned her head towards the area of the apartment where she had last seen Mary Margaret. If Mary Margaret had trusted her before, certainly that trust was gone now. Mary Margaret would not want to live with someone like that. Washed, but feeling far from clean, Emma stepped from the shower, wrapping a towel around herself and her hair. As quickly as she could, Emma dashed to her room, not willing to see Mary Margaret's knowing face.

* * *

There was a soft but insistent knock on Emma's door. Emma curled into a tighter ball on her bed and refused to speak. She heard the door open, heard the soft voice call, "Emma…?"

The light from the lantern filled the room. Emma tried to close her eyes, but it was too late. Mary Margaret saw that she was awake. Slowly, hesitantly, as she would approach a wounded animal, Mary Margaret approached the bed where Emma lay and sat down on the edge.

Emma sighed and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, moving so that the teacher had more room.

"Emma, what happened?" Mary Margaret asked bluntly. Her voice had an edge of steel to it that Emma had never heard before. Emma's eyes widened slightly.

The blonde broke eye contact with the teacher. There was something about Mary Margaret that made Emma _want_ to talk to her, to allow her around the walls she had built to protect her heart. If ever there was something to the idea of "eyes being windows to the soul", Mary Margaret knew how to use it; so she broke eye contact, either not willing or not able to allow the brunette see into her.

"Emma…" Mary Margaret drew out her name, her voice soft and tender. Emma could feel their closeness, the intimacy they had created. It was too much for her. She pushed up from the bed, stormed over to the door and threw it open.

"Out! Get out!" Emma commanded, her face alight with conflicting emotions.

Mary Margaret crossed her arms and remained seated. Her voice, when she spoke, was clear and confident. "No," she said firmly.

Mary Margaret knew her friend's psychological pathology well. With no one to fight with, Emma would flee. She didn't want Emma to run; truthfully, the brunette didn't want to fight, either, but she would do what she had to do to get Emma to open up. She had tried to be patient and supportive, and she could continue to do that, but right now, this seemed to be the best, most direct approach to get to the hurt child currently hiding behind Emma's angry adult persona. And really, that's all that Mary wanted to do: comfort the child and soothe the adult so that Emma could begin to learn to heal herself and be a whole person, rather than two incompletes.

Emma seemed stumped by Mary Margaret's answer.

"What do you mean 'no'?" she asked loudly. She could feel the tension knotting her stomach and realized she had held eye contact with Mary Margaret. _Damn._ She blinked and looked at the teacher, who, in that moment, looked a lot more threatening then she ever had.

"I mean 'no'," Mary said calmly. "Now, please come sit back down."

Emma wavered, wanting to run. How could she be defensive against someone who wouldn't fight back?

It was a good thing Emma couldn't hear her friend's heartbeat as it would've betrayed her calm exterior. Mary Margaret was afraid she had over stepped too much. She knew Emma wanted to run. Logically, she shouldn't, because of the weather conditions. The teacher knew Emma wasn't thinking logically, just emotionally, dealing with her fear and her trust issues. Emma's heart was like a hedgehog constantly curled up; try to get near her and she would poke you out of reflex and defense.

Emma's shoulders slumped forward. She shuffled her feet as she made her way to the bed and sat down heavily. "Look. I know it's your room and your apartment…if you want me to go, I'll go," she said, defeated. Her eyes were downcast and she seemed to have shrunk into herself.

This change alarmed Mary Margaret. She found herself reaching for the younger woman's chin and gently guided her face around so that they were once again eye-to-eye. Emma closed her eyes as a single tear got through her composure and trailed down her cheek. She felt something soft brush it away and opened her hazel eyes to meet Mary's green ones.

"No, Emma, I don't want you to leave. This is," Mary gestured, "still your room. I still want you to live here," she finished, sincerity in her voice. She let go of Emma's chin.

"What I want is for you to tell me about…" she trailed off, uncertain how to word the command.

"My scars…" Emma whispered. Her eyes closed again. She opened them again and Mary Margaret could see anger there. Emma stood up and began pacing in front of the brunette. Both women were quiet. Only the blonde's movements created any sound.

At last, Emma stopped moving and turned to face Mary Margaret. Whatever she saw on the other woman's face helped her decide. Emma nodded once before speaking. "You know I had a…difficult past," she began. "The foster care system is…fucked up, to say the least."

Mary Margaret didn't cringe at the curse. Her eyes never left Emma's face. Emma resumed her pacing.

"Not all of the parents are bad; I truly believe most of them are good people who just want to help." The blonde's features darkened. "Unfortunately, I didn't get to meet many of those people. I had the 'parents' ," she laughed derisively, "that just wanted to adopt as many kids as they could to either get drunk or high. And y'know what? I don't blame the CPS workers, either. Those parents got us kids to put on such an act when they came to check on us. Most of the parents were smart and the abuse was…" Emma stopped pacing, her gaze locked onto something Mary couldn't see. "The abuse was something that couldn't be seen or done so that marks weren't left. They were smart in their cruelty," Emma murmured, so low that the statement was almost made it to herself. She shook herself out of her reverie. She turned and faced Mary Margaret, searching the other woman's face. Emma saw no judgment and the expression found there gave her strength to continue.

"When I was sixteen, I took shop class. I'm sure that's a surprise," she shrugged. "I know most girls, don't. I was interested in cars…Anyway, I also learned how to hot-wire them. It's surprisingly easy. So one day, I see my principal's car sitting there and I think about how easy it would be take it. I was mad at him," Emma confessed. "I had done something stupid and he suspended me for it," she held up a hand, "as he had every right to do. My foster parents…punished me and I blamed the principal, so I hotwired his car and took it for a spin. Of course, I got caught and…" she pushed the word out, "Punished… again. My fosters made sure I knew that I deserved what I got and, actually, that they were being lenient, because they had also gotten the principal to agree not to press charges."

Emma became uncomfortable under the weight of Mary Margaret's gaze and shifted slightly, casting her eyes down. Mary was quiet, subconsciously scrutinizing Emma and her story. Finally, she stood up and gently guided the younger woman back to the bed. The blonde sat, one leg dangling off the bed, the other tucked under herself.

"So all of…that," Mary Margaret gestured to indicate Emma's back, "was because you stole a car when you were sixteen?" Her voice was not incredulous, but seemed more than politely interested.

Emma nodded. "Well, that, and jail wasn't exactly a joy," she said flatly. Seeing Mary's blank look, Emma elaborated. "I got into fights before they knew to separate me because of the…pregnancy. I got shived once," Emma said, matter-of-factly.

It was the way Emma spoke that nearly broke Mary Margaret's heart. The younger woman seemed to genuinely believe that she deserved the pain and abuse she had gone through, as if it was her lot in life and anything better was a pipedream. Granted, the teacher understood that the blonde had broken the law when she was sixteen, and perhaps she had done it before, but the court system would cover that. There was a huge difference between a parent's discipline and physical abuse.

"Emma… you do realize that there is a difference between punishment and abuse?" Mary asked.

Emma was quiet. She closed her eyes again, understanding the question and fearing what her truthful answer would be.

"I…do…but I didn't at the time," she replied, the honesty surprising her. "I was…am…smart enough to know the difference and to know that _that_ should not have happened to any…child."

Emma smiled slightly and opened her eyes. "Just because I know the logical answer doesn't mean I understand it emotionally," she said, eyes on Mary.

The teacher was exceedingly proud of her friend. She seemed to have come to two realizations: that she wasn't responsible for her abuse and that her past had broken her. Mary Margaret had to hold herself back so that she didn't scare Emma by embracing her. She could see the child in Emma peeking over the shoulders of the soothed, once angry, adult.

Mary placed a warm hand on Emma's knee and felt the younger woman watching her intently. "Thank you, Emma, for trusting me enough to talk to me."

Emma looked at the brunette's hand on her knee and smiled slightly. "I don't know if I had a choice…after all…isn't that what family does?"

At this, Mary Margaret couldn't stop herself; she enveloped Emma in a warm hug. Emma stiffened in the other woman's arms and then slowly relaxed, returning the embrace.

* * *

A/N: What did y'all think? It came to me as I was working in Hurricane Sandy last night/this morning. I really liked the dynamic between MM/Emma before the curse broke and I've read other people's really excellent stories (see my favorited stories) about their relationship. Please review and be safe during the storm.

Music: "Always" Switchfoot

"This is the start, this is your heart  
This is the day you were born  
This is the sun, these are your lungs  
This is the day you were born

And I am always yours

These are the scars, deep in your heart  
This is the place you were born  
This is the hole, where most of your soul comes ripping out  
From the places you've been torn…

And it is always, always yours  
I'm always always yours..."


End file.
